


oh i want you, i want you

by apricae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Wild Space - Karen Miller
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, Porn With Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, background Breha/Luminara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricae/pseuds/apricae
Summary: It's four standard days into their trip towards the ominous Sith planet, and Obi-Wan has to face a new issue.The tension aboard is becoming unbearable at this point.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Bail Organa
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	oh i want you, i want you

Four standard days into their so-far uneventful trip towards the mysterious Zigoola, Obi-Wan Kenobi comes face to face with the uncomfortably building tension aboard the ship - in a very literal way, and for three very long seconds he is struck uncharacteristically speechless.

The two-seater cockpit and near claustrophobic galley of Bail’s D-class starfarer are connected by a painfully narrow passageway, unfurnished metal bulkhead on either side. His slimmer frame fits through just so, but he’s been hearing Bail mutter curses under his breath at the brush of his broad shoulders to the side of the corridor ever since they left Coruscant space. It never bothered him; let Bail take his petty frustrations out upon overly economic ship design, anything to keep the man occupied - until now.

Until now, as they come to a stop right in the middle, face to face. 

He takes a damningly sharp breath, too far into Bail’s space for any kind of Jedi propriety. He should step back, pride be damned, acquiesce and let him have his way. It is Bail’s ship, after all. And yet he lingers. 

It’s been four days. Four days of this insufferable man’s company, of dancing around one another like dignitaries at a gala, Obi-Wan all polite Jedi and Bail all Senatorial gallantry; and yet. And yet, and yet. 

He knows Bail has watched him. First he thought it was curiosity, nothing more, then he wondered if it was a way to suss him out, a sort of arrogant peeking-the-blinds, an attempt to catch a Jedi behind the scenes - whatever _that_ may mean. He thought it was nothing more until he felt Bail’s gaze follow the contours of his body as he twisted, unbothered, into another set of exercises, not giving away any hint that he knew the Senator was watching, even as his skin burned under those deep brown eyes.

A Jedi values honesty, and if he is honest… If he is _honest_ , he should mind a lot more the Alderaanian Senator’s hungry stolen looks. He has tried to mind. Kicked up a fuss over small things, flashed temper and bared proverbial teeth in their thorny exchanges. But every time the debates turn amicable again, as they find their footing and ease into banter, Bail’s eyes linger a beat too long on his mouth, on his reddened cheeks. And in return, Obi-Wan finds himself tearing his glances off Bail Organa’s wide shoulders and broad palms, biting the inside of his cheek when Bail showed off a clever sleight of hand as they played sabacc.

If he is honest, he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he should, even just for dignity’s sake.

Now, face to face and far too close for comfort, encased on either side by metal walls, he breathes in the hint of Alderaanian wine and something illicit and hot and-

And exhales. This is no time for ill-placed yearning, for ridiculous _want_ muddling the waters of a budding friendship. The moment has stretched to its breaking point, and Obi-Wan bows his head, Jedi calm slowly cooling his blood.

“Do you want me to…?”

“Oh, there’s a good amount of things I want you to, Master Jedi,” Bail retorts, something like amusement but far too sharp in his voice. 

“Beg pardon?”

“I thought you Jedi types were all… You know. Celibate, or something like it. But unless our cultures differ more than I first anticipated, you’re not at all as detached from _certain things_ as I’ve been led to believe.”

A heartbeat. Two. Three. Obi-Wan lifts his head, staring right into Bail’s politician-inscrutable face, except the mask, that elegant slippery surface of the Senator, has dropped, leaving a sensation of staring into a furnace; it’s a blast of heat to the face, Bail’s untempered desire burning through him like a wildfire.

“Is that so?” His breaths come shallow, quickened by the burn in his blood.

“Yes,” says Bail, crowding him closer, turning in the cramped passage until Obi-Wan’s back meets cool metal, and there is barely any space left between them. “Which is why I think I am correct when I assume that this,” he murmurs, bending down until his mouth brushes the side of Obi-Wan’s jaw, “Isn’t at all unwelcome. Is that so, Master Kenobi?”

Oh, how incredibly tempting. His eyelids flutter, wanting to fall shut, but he straightens himself marginally. Perceptive and respectful both, Bail pulls back enough to look him in the face. Another long moment, where Obi-Wan looks for the right words in the right order, trying to get them to leave his suddenly-dry mouth in the correct fashion.

“This… We... “ He stops, starts again. “Bail, you’re married.”

“Ah. How polite of you to remind me,” Bail quips, a glimmer of humour in his eyes. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but I believe she’s in much the same situation with one of your fellow Jedi…” A glance to his wrist chrono, “As we speak.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Obi-Wan takes a beat to digest that information before saying anything further.

What ends up leaving his mouth, however, is: “ _Please_ tell me it’s not Anakin.”

Bail laughs, actually laughs; a pleasantly rumbling sound that shouldn’t make him so warm. 

“No, goodness no. Not her type. A master Unduli…?”

And that has Obi-Wan laughing, too, the shock a little much for his slightly addled brain. He laughs, for a long moment, there’s only their laughter mingling in the slightly stale ship air, the ridiculousness of it all making him almost dizzy. 

“If you want me to back off, I will,” Bail offers in the silence after their laughter dies down. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” Obi-Wan says quickly, making up his mind in the wake of realizing that no, Bail Organa is not attempting to incite a scandalous extramarital affair with him, no matter the technicalities. “I know you didn’t.”

And then it’s almost startling how quickly the tension snaps back into place, like static dancing between them. He’s yanked back to their closeness, to Bail’s body heat and spice-wine-cologne scent, and the liquid want that’s been coursing through him for the past three days stuck in hyperspace with this insufferable and decidedly attractive man.

It’s his turn to let his mask drop, a more conscious effort on his part than on Bail’s; he allows the furnace to catch fresh kindling, locking his gaze with the Senator who all but stumbled into his life. _By the Force, this man is going to be trouble._

“Now, I think I am correct when I assume that this,” he echoes Bail from earlier, pushing off the wall and leaning up until they’re breathing the same air, a scant inch apart, “Isn’t at all unwelcome?”

Bail takes what he offers, eagerly; their very first kiss is hungry and hot, a harsh press of mouths as Bail steps closer, dragged into Obi-Wan by the hands at his shoulders. Closer, closer, until they’re pressed up against each other in the narrow bulkhead corridor like desperate padawans hiding from the arboretum masters.

Bail’s kisses turn surprisingly gentle once the first surging passion ebbs, though. He captures Obi-Wan in refined, lingering presses, the slight scratch of his beard further fanning the flames that climb through Obi-Wan’s limbs, leaving him weak-kneed and sighing into it. 

His hands shift, finding the warm skin of Bail’s neck above the high collar of his tunic, suddenly impatient for more contact. 

They’re of a like mind, it seems; Bail tugs aside the soft fabric of his inner tunic, following its path with his mouth and then making a sort of snorting noise when he happens upon the clone-issue thermal blacks beneath it. 

“How many layers does one man need, Obi-Wan?”

Once he gets past the stab of pure _want_ at the huskiness of Bail’s voice and the way it shapes itself around his name, Obi-Wan scoffs a reply, finding his own voice shockingly rough.

“If you’re so bothered, you can just take them off for me.”

“Now _there’s_ an idea.”

It takes a bit of shuffling, but eventually Bail manages to back him out of the cramped passageway, and they more or less stumble their way - Obi-Wan backwards and upright only thanks to Jedi grace - to the sleeping quarters. Bail’s mouth still insistently chases his, and Obi-Wan answers in kind with fervor.

The narrow, low-ceiling bunks set into alcoves in the wall present somewhat of a logistics challenge. _Challenge_ meaning it will just not fit the two of them, period. In the end, a now-shirtless Bail grumbles and yanks one of the mattresses down onto the floor between the bunks, leaning back on it with a half shrug.

“Not the most sophisticated, but…”

“It’ll do fine,” Obi-Wan replies, busily attempting to undo his belt while at the same time finding out if the warm brown skin at Bail’s collarbone will bruise nicely. Broad hands shove his own away, fumbling for a bit before undoing the buckles and pulling away the tabards and outer tunic. It’ll get wrinkly on the floor, but there’s a laundry machine onboard and now it hopefully won’t be as awkward waiting for the drying cycle to finish.

“Gods above, what is with you Jedi and layers?” Bail huffs into the space between them, slipping his hand up underneath the brown undertunic, tugging him out of it. “Go on, strip,” he encourages, sitting back on his hands. “I’d like to see properly what you’re hiding under there.”

“So chatty, Senator,” Obi-Wan banters back, pulling the blacks up above his waist teasingly.

“I have a talented mouth.”

Quirking an eyebrow, as if to say _we shall see about that_ , Obi-Wan peels himself out of the skintight black fabric, stretching with the movement maybe a little more than is strictly necessary - worth it for the heat in Bail’s eyes as he looks him up and down. He crawls up between the Senator’s legs, skimming his hands across the expanse of Bail’s stomach and broad chest, eagerly exploring firm muscle and supple dark skin with a scattering of dark hair.

He crawls a little further, swinging his legs over Bail’s thighs until he’s straddling him, knees squeezing his hips playfully. 

Bail leans in, kissing his throat, and then he places a warm hand on the small of Obi-Wan’s back and pushes him closer, until he’s suddenly - eagerly - grinding against Bail’s lower stomach. 

“Oh,” he says softly, because it feels a lot better than he thought it would, and a shiver races up his back. 

“I thought it, earlier, but I’ll say it now,” Bail rumbles against his pulse, “You’re gorgeous. I want you like this, just so I can look at you.”

And if he wasn’t red-cheeked before he is now, a fierce flush rising everywhere at Bail’s words, the image his mind supplies, and he breathes out a rushed, desperate _yes_ , letting Bail kiss him until his head spins and his belly tightens, and his leggings have a wet spot, and he _wants_ so badly his skin feels too tight.

“Wait-” He pulls back enough to breathe, sucking in cooler air sharply, “I want- You, too,” he fumbles, lips buzzing and heart thrumming. “I want to make this good for you,” he continues once he’s gathered his bearings, and Bail smiles at him, and he doesn’t know if it qualifies as _just_ tension relief when Bail’s flushed grin lights him up like a sun inside. 

“Whatever you want,” Bail says, and _oh_ those broad palms are distracting, cupping his hipbones, thumbs sweeping his abdomen. “I don’t mind. I could watch you all day.”

“Well,” says Obi-Wan, pushing him back onto his elbows on the mattress, “You can still watch me, if you want.”

Then he tugs sharply on Bail’s tailored trousers, nudging his hips up to pull them down. 

“Is this all right?”

Bail laughs again, breathy and warm, nodding.

“Very much so. Please.”

He goes slow. Kisses at the soft skin at the inside of Bail’s thigh, a hint of teeth to make him hiss. They have time, an overflow of it in fact, hyperspace humming around them as he takes Bail into his mouth and gets lost in the sounds of want and pleasure he makes. 

Idly, he allows himself to lose focus and drift half beneath the surface of the Force, into that space where every sense is sharpened; Bail’s emotions surge through him in a flood of molten desire, the crescendo of sensation, heat and breath and quickened pulse - the sudden snap of release rushes to meet him, and Obi-Wan smiles, watching Bail’s chest heave.

“C’mere,” Bail demands after a moment, eyes black with yearning and satisfaction, pulling Obi-Wan close as he sits up, fitting his thigh between Obi-Wan’s suddenly trembling legs. 

He clings, as Bail sets about taking him apart piece by piece, easing him into a slow rocking rhythm that has him panting far too quickly, breathless moans swallowed up by Bail’s still-hungry kisses.

“Just like that,” Bail murmurs beneath his ear, arms tightening around him, hand at the small of his back. “Like that, darling.”

The name is what unravels him completely - he’s never been _darling_ to anyone and it shudders through his blood, the lilt of Bail’s voice and the hard solid muscle pressing against him enough to have him gasping around Bail’s name and muffling a long, low groan against his warm shoulder. Bail holds him through the aftershocks, his head pleasantly fuzzy for some reason as his movements slow into stillness.

When each breath no longer scorches the insides of his lungs, he slumps a little, still sitting on Bail’s lap. Their skin sticks together with sweat, and he finds it in him to grumble wordlessly. 

“What, you want a shower? I’m not carrying you,” Bail replies, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his head, and Obi-Wan really doesn’t want him to stop, somehow.

“It can wait,” he mumbles into Bail’s neck. 

Bail laughs, and he laughs, and maybe there’s none of that sharp tension anymore but there’s something else, something big and beautiful and breathtaking buried deep beneath the earth that he’s slightly afraid of nurturing - even though he’s unbearably tempted to see what it blooms into.

“Yeah,” Bail says, leaning back onto the pillows he’s pulled down from the bunk. “It can wait.”


End file.
